


We’ll put on a show (Scotty has to know)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Europe, Fluff, Inspired by Twitter, Kissing, M/M, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Stiles is a stubborn asshole, determined to have fun in Europe even though Scott stays behind in Belgium because of a girl. So asking a stranger to make out with him for the ‘Gram? Totally the best decision he’s ever made, and not just because that’ll totally show Jackson (and Scott!). Shame he won’t see the guy again, though.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 73
Kudos: 1180





	We’ll put on a show (Scotty has to know)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassynosubete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassynosubete/gifts).

> You remember that total hero on Twitter who got a bunch of hot guys to kiss her on her European vacation, and was like "I hope that guy I kissed so I could pretend to have a romantic time is doing good"? Well, that's now available in a distinctly Sterek flavor. 
> 
> Credit to sassynosobete for making this prompt infinitely better with the "clearly it's all Derek" angle.

Scott was thinking with his dick again when the entire trip fell apart. 

“Stiles, she’s so beautiful,” it started when Scott followed a dark-haired girl into a cute little bakery, “and she smiled at me, and then I just started talking to her. She speaks English - she’s American, but she’s lived all over and she’s so cute when she speaks French.”

And she could probably hear everything that Scott was saying, judging by the glint in her dark eyes, but Stiles was certainly not going to break that to Scott - not ever. The girl looks like she thinks it’s actually endearing, so, good on her. 

Not so good on Stiles though, because Scott was talking about sticking with this girl for a while, and Stiles’ list of things to see in Europe was still at least five pages long. In a really small font, single-spaced. 

So it was possible that he had definitely overshot himself again. It was only three weeks, after all, and there were so many countries here, so many cities still to see. 

But it was supposed to be a bro trip. A best friends finally spending a decent amount of time with each other after graduating from college trip. Because finals had been… well, he was from Beacon Hills, so he could legitimately call it hell. Probably. 

“I’m happy for you, buddy,” Stiles was, he really was trying to be happy here. 

And he would be, if Scott had met this girl at home, and they were going to go on dates and do all that cute shit somewhere far away from Stiles. Somewhere where it wouldn’t interfere with the very limited amount of time he had with Scott. 

Because after this trip, Scott was not going back to Beacon Hills with him, and Stiles was going to be all on his own (shut up, his Dad totally doesn’t count, sorry Dad). He had his own apartment waiting for him, a small place over a coffee shop where he would undoubtedly end up working when his own business (supernatural research and consulting) flamed out. 

Oh yeah, Stiles was super optimistic about the future. Realistic, that was what he was calling it. He was being realistic when he worried about this being the end of his friendship with Scott, because Scott would be in the fucking wilderness somewhere, helping wild animals because that was the kind of animal doctor he thought would be cool. And it was. 

Would have been cooler if it were somewhere closer to Stiles, though. 

“So you understand?” Apparently Scott had been talking while Stiles had been… moping. 

“Sure buddy,” he sighed, already resigning himself to the new reality. “You wanna hang out with the love of your life a little while longer, but I should totally still go see Paris.”

He didn’t actually need to listen to Scott to know what he was talking about, and yeah he totally knew he was a shitty friend, shut up. But after the delight that was Kira, and then the complete awkwardness that was Malia (look, he wasn’t actually in love with Malia even though she was his first girlfriend, but it was still weird that Scott started dating her)... Stiles had heard all of this many times before… And this girl (Allison?) was going to be the same thing all over again. 

Stiles was already preparing himself for lots of nodding and agreeable noises when Scott extolled the many delights of the lovely Allison Argent (hah, like silver in French, clever). It was not that he didn’t want his buddy to be happy, or that he didn’t want to listen, it was that Scott had some serious boundary issues in his most excitable puppy love stage, and he wanted to be able to look Allison in the eyes if this was going to be an actual thing. 

(He’d learned that lesson after the first time Scott had sex.)

“Exactly,” Scott was just such a fucking puppy. 

“Alright,” Stiles was really trying not to sound too sad. “But you gotta text me, dude, if you wanna meet up somewhere or whatever. We still have a lot of stuff on the list.”

Stuff that he would have to go and see all by himself. And then his dad would sound pitying and worried on Skype, and Jackson would make fun of him online - because not even Danny could keep him from doing that. And they would all pity him. 

Because not even his one friend actually wanted to hang out with him. 

So yeah, that’s why he’s currently moping in front of the Eiffel Tower. All by himself, with no one to listen to the million awesome things that he’s already seen since abandoning Scott in Brussels. He’s got a million and one stories, and no one to listen to them. 

He can barely get Scott to reply to a text. 

It drives him crazy, makes him frustrated and impulsive and that’s when he always has the best ideas - okay, he thinks those are the best ideas. Everyone else disagrees, but then again, they’re not here to disagree with him, so they can suck it. 

The atmosphere is stupidly romantic. There are couples everywhere, kissing and cuddling and being adorable for the camera, trying to get the perfect shot with the famous tower in the background and… ugh, Stiles is so very lonely and single and pathetic, and so very determined to prove to people that he can have a good time, that he can totally function without Scott by his side. That he’s got an awesome life ahead of him. That he’s not just going to be playing video games in his apartment and jerking off all the time. 

Well, okay, there will definitely be some of that, but still. 

Right now, he has a stupid idea that he needs a partner in crime for. Something Scott would never, could never do, and it’s going to be awesome. 

“Parlez-vous Anglais?” Stiles just walks up to a random guy and makes an attempt at French. 

Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair and perfectly maintained stubble. Biceps for days (weeks, months) and resting bitchface. Or resting murderface, maybe. But he’s here alone, just like Stiles is, and maybe, just maybe…

“I’m American too,” the guy responds. 

Okay, so an attempt at French was made, and it was awful, but it doesn’t look like this guy is laughing at him that much (only a little, and he hides it well under those angry brows). And this guy is an American too, so that just makes everything a little easier. 

“Great,” Stiles says decisively. “Do you want to kiss me and take a picture of it for the ‘Gram, or whatever it is the kids are saying these days?” 

That definitely stumps the guy, which is perfect, because it gives Stiles some time to take a closer look at him, to get an idea of who he is as a person (other than ridiculously hot). He is dressed casually, a dark Henley tight over his impressive chest, and slightly too tight jeans that Stiles cannot imagine being comfortable - but good on this guy. His resting facial expression is leaning towards murderface still, but surprise is a good look on him. 

“Did you make a bet?” The stranger finally starts to talk again. 

“No one to make a bet with,” Stiles blurts out right away, and he just knows that he is going to be embarrassingly open to this guy within like, the next five seconds. “My best friend bailed on our bro trip halfway through Belgium because a cute girl with dimples smiled at him, and I don’t want to just post pictures of gorgeous views online. Because this asshole from high school is just going to use that make fun of my continuing inability to make friends. I just… I’m twenty-two years old and I’m sick of being a friendless, dateless loser.”

Okay, maybe that is a little too much of everything, especially because he is unloading it on a perfect stranger. Sure, if it makes the perfect stranger want to make out with him, he is all for it, but he doesn’t like talking about this. It’s embarrassing, being 22 and seeing everyone around you making friends, when you just get brushed off whenever you try. Because Stiles is… too much of one thing, or too little of something else. He’s never just right, because apparently Goldilocks is the perfect analogy to his depressing fucking life. 

“Alright,” the stranger says. 

Stiles is clearly hearing things. “What?”

Really? This stranger is just going to drop everything he’s doing - which, to be honest, isn’t a whole lot, but still - and make out with Stiles a little? It is a stupid pickup line, and Stiles isn’t even using it to pick up, but it still works, and he kind of hates and loves that at the same time. Because one: ugh, people should be better than this, but two: the hottest guy he’s seen in ages is actually going to kiss him, or let Stiles kiss him. He’s fine with either, really. 

“I’ll kiss you,” the stranger isn’t even freaked out about this in the slightest. “But only if we take a picture with my phone too. My sister deserves to freak the fuck out.”

Oh yes, this is the kind of sibling relationship he can get behind. It’s exactly what he’s hoping Scott’s response will be, and since they’re basically brothers… It totally counts. 

And now that the guy is just staring at him, with eyes that are somewhere between green and hazel and grey and is that blue? And it’s like this guy is looking Stiles up and down, trying to see what he is working with - and that is totally doing it for Stiles. He wonders if this guy likes what he sees. Stiles wants him to like it. 

“A man after my own heart,” Stiles has to tell him that, he just has to. 

But that’s when it gets awkward, because Stiles doesn’t usually go from standing a few feet away to kissing without some serious signals that his approach is a welcome one, and even then it hasn’t happened much when he’s sober. Because usually he moves closer slowly, and then by the time the person realizes, they either push him away or they make the first move. 

How is he supposed to do that now without taking a lot of time out of a stranger’s day? Or without embarrassing himself? If that’s even possible for him. 

The stranger clears his throat. “How do you wanna do this?”

Stiles is dying on the inside, because he played a lot of D&D in college and that phrase has never been this sexy before (no matter that Matt Mercer is totally hot). But then he is forced to actually consider the logistics, and he is briefly stumped - and that is not an easy task to accomplish, because Stiles Stilinski does not get stumped, he gets depmuts? Not really. 

“First I was thinking selfie,” Stiles starts to explain his thought process to the stranger, “because that’s clearly the most obnoxious way to do this. And well, aren’t we going for obnoxiously adorable here? I know I am. But then I considered that we wouldn’t actually get the tower in the background that way, and since that’s kind of the purpose of the whole thing… Or well, just the purpose of taking this picture here, obviously showing where we are and just how disgustingly romantic we are being. So now I’m thinking that we actually have to ask one of these nice strangers here to take our picture. Maybe we could pretend to be boyfriends?” 

That would be the adorable thing, right? It will probably make it so people are more likely to help them out. Though if they can find a fellow millennial/Gen Z person, they would absolutely be more likely to help them if they told the true story. Because Twitter. 

Oh fuck yeah, he’s going to put this on Twitter. 

“Stay here,” the stranger orders. 

“Sure thing babe,” Stiles salutes him sloppily, and watches him walk away. 

Because well, this guy is the epitome of that hate to see him go, love to watch him leave type of deal. That is a good backside - mostly his ass, but also those strong thighs and the shoulder to hip ratio that isn’t quite the Chris Evans golden ratio, but still really fucking good. 

A guy can look, right? Especially at his future kissing buddy. And especially when his future kissing buddy is potentially embarrassing himself in front of strangers just so he can kiss Stiles and have photographic evidence of it - can he save this memory to his harddrive, because he needs to remember this for the rest of eternity. 

Scott is never going to believe this - even when he sees the picture. But Stiles isn’t actually that good at photoshop. Not good enough to perfectly photoshop someone as ridiculously hot as his future kissing buddy. Shit, should he have asked for a name? 

“Right, let’s do this,” Future Kissing Buddy has returned. “Give the nice girl your phone, and she’ll take pictures for both of us.” 

He is being followed by a girl about Stiles’ age, who appears just as distracted by FKB’s assets as Stiles is. And he really cannot blame her for that, no not at all. Because there is a lot to be distracted by, and it’s so good, and Stiles is about halfway to having a stupid crush on this guy - okay, it’s more like 95%. 

“How do you want me?” Stiles asks, because he’s that guy. 

FKB looks around, seemingly judging the angle for the blonde girl taking the picture (and grinning madly while taking it, he’s sure of it). And then he just, positions Stiles exactly where he wants him, like it’s no effort at all, and well, that’s the remaining 5 percent all taken care of in a matter of seconds. Stiles is all the way there now, and he’s discovered a manhandling kink that he didn’t know he had. So that’s all good. 

“Yeah, is that good for you?” Stiles continues to attempt to get to FKB. 

Stiles just really wants FKB to be at least half as interested in Stiles as Stiles is in him. It is not going to work, especially not with these lines, but he has to give it a try. And even if it doesn’t work, he will hopefully get a nice kiss out of it. 

“Do you like being good for me?” FKB asks, and Stiles actually gasps. 

Of course that is when FKB steps in close and just… goes for it. He just uses one gentle hand to slightly tip up Stiles’ chin and then he just… kisses Stiles like he’ll never get another opportunity to do so. He doesn’t start out slow, which is good, because Stiles is grabbing on to this opportunity with both hands (and manfully resists grabbing That Ass, instead settling both hands on FKB’s waist). 

There is a hint of tongue (Stiles moans) before FKB steps back and turns to look at the blonde girl. 

“Did you get everything you need?” FKB asks, pretending he isn’t out of breath. 

“And then some,” Stiles thinks he hears the girl saying, and he tries not to laugh. 

Heck, he can’t laugh because he’s fucking breathless. This guy literally kissed the breath out of him, and Stiles is not sure he will recover. 

Fuck, he wants to do that again. 

FKB tosses his phone at him and walks away. Stiles watches. 

* * *

The picture he finally posts (he keeps the other four and the short video to himself) is a stunning success, in the way that it gets the most comments any one of his posts have ever gotten. Scott actually manages to rip himself away from Allison long enough to call his best friend, Stiles’ Dad - in his mission to be the most embarrassing - makes him promise to be safe and makes several not so veiled references to condoms. Jackson and his ignoramus friends make some dickhead comments about Stiles paying FKB, but Danny (who he hasn’t been great at keeping in touch with) posts something nice about how Stiles should keep enjoying Europe. 

So, all in all, Stiles wins. Even though he’s still in Europe alone, because Scott hasn’t exactly been able to tear himself away from the lovely Allison for longer than a brief phone call. And of course Scott and Allison make their way to Paris (probably to re-enact Stiles’ picture) by the time that Stiles steps foot in Rome. 

There’s so much to see there, so much history and so much art - superficially put: a lot of dicks and a lot of poorly sculpted tits (seriously Michelangelo so gay). Stiles loves every minute of it, even though he can’t always stand still long enough to properly appreciate the art. 

When he’s in front of the Colosseum, he’s totally tempted to find another random person to kiss for the camera, because it would be a hilarious response to his original picture, and it would totally shut Jackson up (right?). 

Only he doesn’t, because he’s a stupid idiot with a crush on a random American guy that he’s never going to see again. Yeah, that crush on FKB (no longer his future kissing buddy, but he’s got no other options that would make a good nickname) is not fading away any time soon. He knows that it makes him even more ridiculous than Scott, but he guesses that he’ll just have to carry that burden with him for a little while. 

Because it’s not like he’s going to do better. And that’s why he doesn’t even look. 

Until he’s standing in front of Lupa Capitolina at the Capitolini museum. The Palazzo dei Conservatori (fuck, is he saying that right? Probably not, because he’s just a dumb American who’s barely able to order food in Spanish) is kind of awesome. Lots of old art, and cool sculptures that are like… Older than fucking Columbus (who is a douche, but that’s not the point here). He stares at the little babies that were apparently a late addition to the sculpture, when he is unceremoniously yanked towards a dark-haired stranger.

“Oh,” he gasps when he looks up. “It’s you.” 

He barely even has time to struggle before he realizes that FKB has somehow managed to find him again. And he just kind of, lets himself be manhandled by this complete stranger until they’re positioned perfectly in front of the wolf statue. 

“Give me your phone,” FKB orders, and Stiles just hands it over. 

He doesn’t even give FKB any lip about it - no one has managed to get here with him, to the point of where he just listens without offering any kind of sarcastic aside. But he’s stunned at seeing him again, at finding him here when Stiles was sure that they were never going to see each other again. 

But here they are. Together again. 

“Wait, why do you need my-” Stiles is cut off by FKB’s lips on his. 

Seriously, he’s going to need to check if he’s not dreaming, because maybe he got hit by one of those crazy drivers here and he’s currently in the hospital, racking up medical bills. Just the fact that FKB is here with him seems impossible enough, but the fact that this guy actually wants to kiss him again? Inconceivable! 

But then again, Vizzini was wrong about that one too. 

It might be even better than last time. FKB remembers just what he likes, and decides to add some nibbling to his repertoire. Stiles’ lips soon feel swollen and sore, and it kind of just adds to the experience, so he is not going to to tell FKB to stop. Not ever. 

Not even when FKB pulls back a little and moves his mouth to Stiles’ neck. 

“Signori,” they unfortunately do get interrupted at that point. 

Yeah, okay, they probably should be interrupted because they’re about halfway to making soft-core porn in the middle of a museum in a very catholic city. And Stiles does not have getting arrested in a foreign country on his bucket list - and neither does FKB, probably. He doesn’t really look like that kind of bad boy. He still looks kind of… soft, yet strong. 

So strong, strong enough to hold Stiles up probably, while they… okay, this is not the place for those kinds of thoughts. Those thoughts are for when he’s got five minutes alone in the hostel showers. There hasn’t been a lot of time for that lately, unfortunately. Because ever since FKB made his first appearance in Stiles’ life, it has seemed like a necessity. 

“Scusi,” Stiles has learned to make his apologies in several languages now. 

It is usually the first phrase he learns in the country he’s visiting, though he doesn’t usually need it for this kind of apology. Usually he needs it because he tripped over someone or something, or because he hit someone or something while flailing. He doesn’t usually need to apologize for having a very attractive man’s tongue halfway down his throat. 

Stiles has never envisioned that as something to apologize for.

He is a little dazed when FKB drags him outside with him. “Dude, no worries, we’re not getting arrested. They just wanted us to stop shooting amateur soft porn.” 

That definitely earns him a couple of looks on the way out, but he magnanimously chooses to ignore them, because he’s on the arm of the hottest dude, so. Clearly he is winning at life right now, and he can afford to let it go. He’s so chill he’s Elsa - which is a joke that works on multiple levels so he’s loving life right now. 

Not that he’s going to tell FKB that’s the reason why he’s smiling. 

“So if it had been professional…,” FKB trails of meaningfully and Stiles flushes. 

“How about you go back inside and ask,” he manages to recover quickly enough. 

FKB laughs, and it just… transforms him. He’s got cute bunny teeth he’s been hiding behind that resting murderface, and Stiles loves the softness he now exudes more than anything. This is a man who probably gives good cuddle as well as giving a good dicking - and that’s exactly the kind of balance that Stiles needs in his life. 

But it’s just a stupid pipe dream. 

“Hey, idiot,” a blonde girl walks out, waving their phones at them. “Phones? I would have gotten Boyd to give them back to you, but clearly me working my feminine wiles on him would have gotten all of us kicked out. This is a sacred place, idiot.” 

Wait, is that the same blonde girl that took their picture in Paris? Because she looks seriously familiar - but Stiles didn’t exactly have a lot of brainpower to remember anything other than FKB and the way he looked and the way he tasted and the way he moved and kissed and just… let himself be all over Stiles in public. 

That’s the dream, seriously. 

“Erica,” FKB is not amused by his friend calling him out like this. 

“Look,” Erica barely even lets him finish. “I get that you want to make out with this guy again, because if I didn’t have Boyd, well… I’d probably fight you for him. But keep your biting to the bedroom, will you? Or at least a locked bathroom, or a stall. Or somewhere we don’t all witness it. Because yes, he’s hot, but you’re basically my brother.” 

So she’s actually FKB’s friend, and there’s at least one more of them - so maybe FKB is a little lonely too, being a third wheel the whole time. 

“Thanks Erica,” Stiles tries to play nice as he takes his phone back. 

“I take credit cards or a gift card to Forbidden Planet,” Erica grins at him. “I’ve got my eye on a Catwoman collection. That should be enough payment for babysitting this one. We have to go, though. But I’m sure he’ll put out the bat signal for you when he needs you.” 

Oh, Stiles likes her, this Catwoman to his Batman. He wants to be her friend, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how crazy he’s going over FKB. It has everything to do with how she’s pushing FKB back in the direction of the museum, where a tall, dark-skinned guy appears to be waiting for the both of them.

“See you soon,” Stiles promises FKB, even though he knows it’ll never happen. 

“My name is Derek,” FKB (Derek!) throws out a parting shot before letting Erica drag him off. 

Stiles is… In love. With a guy who still doesn’t know his name. 

* * *

Of course he spends the rest of his trip furtively searching for FKB Derek. Because third time’s the charm and he’s really fucking charming okay. When he wants to be. Which is of course, very rarely, but like all the time when Derek is around. 

Because it’s not like he’s going to do better, somehow. Because that would be ridiculous, and even if he never actually sees FKB Derek again - oh fuck, he’s never going to see Derek again because of course he’s not. If he does want to see him, he’s going to have to resort to shameless manipulation of feelings on social media - and using an account that cannot be traced to him because Jackson is going to mock him for this for fucking ever. Like, at their fiftieth high school reunion, they are still going to be talking about this. 

The mocking will never end. And Stiles will have deserved it, because he let an actual Greek god slip away from his greedy little hands. Okay, not little, but the point has been made. 

Luckily his dad is waiting for him at the airport, because he has way too much shit with him and he’s fucking exhausted because of the time difference and the ridiculously long layover he had in London that still wasn’t enough time to do anything useful. So… Yeah, he’s got a lot of feelings and seeing his dad again is bringing all of them to the surface. 

“Hey kiddo,” the Sheriff is actually wearing his uniform, because of course. 

He probably took a lot of extra shifts again, and ate way too much bacon, and did not spend enough time doing the exercises for his knee that are supposed to bring him back to full mobility. That’s his dad, every inch as stubborn as Stiles himself. He didn’t  _ just _ get it from his mother, after all. 

“Hey old man,” Stiles returns, because well, teasing is fun. 

“Stiles,” his dad sighs, and that’s the first point. “You look like you actually tanned for once. I almost didn’t recognize you without your typical manufactured lighting only paleness.” 

How much time has the old man spent trying to think that one up? Probably too long, but Stiles can still appreciate the effort. 

“It’s my new look,” Stiles quips. “I call this one: so glad I’m no longer peeling.” 

Another point Stiles, because his dad actually looks the slightest bit grossed out, and any response at all earns him the points. And now that he is back in Beacon Hills, he’s got all the time in the world to start earning these points (instant win bonus for getting his dad to actually eat a vegetable of his own free will, but he knows that will never happen). 

“Proud of you, son,” Dad is rolling his eyes, of course. “Now I really hate to do this, but we need to get going. The fire department needs me to check out a series of fires that they think is connected, and the guy I need to talk to is finally back from his own vacation.” 

Workaholic is also a thing that runs in the family, so Stiles can’t even blame him. He’s already a little itchy, wanting to get back to his own inbox to see if any cases have popped up that he can consult on. It’s been far too long since he’s been running for his life, and he kind of misses it. Because has he mentioned that Beacon Hills is basically an actual Hellmouth? 

Well, he hasn’t actually spotted any vampires yet, but give it time. They probably won’t sparkle in sunlight either - because this is Beacon Hills, after all. 

“Fine,” Stiles sighs, pretending that’s actually an issue for him. “But I demand curly fries after - and a salad for you. And I don’t mean potato salad.” 

That is followed by a lot of groaning and complaining, naturally, but seeing as his dad is so happy to have him back, there is less of it than there usually is. Maybe he should go away to Europe more often… Well, only if Derek is there. 

Not that Europe isn’t beautiful and that his list of things to see never actually got below three pages, but he had spent so much time looking forward to seeing Derek again. And that was a great motivator to get himself up in the morning, even when he was tired and his back hurt from the shitty hostel bed and he was more lonely than ever. 

Scott never did catch up with him. Which is an asshole move if he ever saw one. 

“After my meeting,” his Dad finally agrees. 

“Because you don’t have a shift tonight, right?” Stiles already knows the answer, but he’s going to act innocent and rub it in anyway. “Not when your only son has just come home?” 

It is hard to act cute when throwing his backpack in the back of the car - not his baby, sadly, but he can’t blame his dad for wanting to take his own car when he’s conducting professional business and all that. Besides, Stiles isn’t actually sure that his Jeep is currently running - it’s been weeks since he had to worry about that. 

“About that,” the old man actually visually cringes. 

(Stiles 3, Dad zero.)

“Color me not surprised,” Stiles really is not surprised, but he is going to be sassy about it anyway. “Guess I’ll spend my first night back alone. Just like I did my trip.” 

At least he actually gets to sit in front this time. Usually his dad likes to mess with him by making him sit in the back - which is probably like fifty percent of the reason that Stiles’ reputation in this town is completely fucked up. Okay, maybe more like twenty percent max, but he likes to pretend that it’s more than that - because while he was definitely prone to some (a lot of) teenage idiocy, he’s never actively been an asshole to his dad. 

All mischief, no one actually got hurt because of Stiles. There were plenty of other reasons for people to get hurt - actual monsters under beds and the like. 

“Oh buddy,” his Dad now has his pity face on. “Missing Scott already?” 

Already? Did he just not notice that Scott didn’t show up in pictures anymore? Like, sure, most of their conversations revolved around the things that Stiles had seen and a lot of awkward comments about his new boyfriend and how Stiles should always be safe and… Maybe Scott just didn’t come up, because he didn’t want his dad to worry about him. 

But still? He still hasn’t figured it out? Melissa hasn’t told him? Or does Melissa not know? That seems like the most likely option. Which means that maybe Stiles should actually kill Scott. 

“Yeah, after two weeks,” Stiles huffs. 

“Two weeks?” John doesn’t look at him when he’s driving. “I thought you guys said goodbye before you got on your flight?” 

Did Melissa tell him that? Is Scott actively lying to his mother because Melissa would judge him so hard for bailing on Stiles? It is likely. But Stiles… doesn’t want to keep up this ridiculous bit of fiction, not when he’s been so angry about it these last few weeks. 

“We said goodbye in Belgium,” Stiles isn’t going to lie to his dad. “He met someone, and he wanted to spend more time with her. I wanted to actually see Europe.” 

There are a lot of muttered curses following that statement, which proves pretty definitively that his dad really had no idea. And it makes the lying to Melissa thing seem like a pretty solid bet at this point, which is just so fucking typical of Scott. He just hopes that Melissa doesn’t blame him, or that Scott doesn’t take it out on him. 

Because Stiles is not the one who decided to lie. 

“Oh kiddo,” is all his dad finally says. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, pretending it doesn’t sting. 

He really does not want to keep talking about this, because he will absolutely cry about this at some point and he definitely does not want to do that in front of his dad. So maybe it’s a good thing that his dad has a shift tonight, so he can wallow in peace, and then try to remember the awesome things about his vacation. Like the group of Dutch friends he met at the karaoke bar, scream singing along to ABBA songs, and teaching him the delights of Dutch snacks. The sarcastic Romanian girl and her grinning boyfriend who talked vampires with him. The gorgeous sights and the smells and the sound of a Spanish guitar. All of the people who made an effort to pull him in and show him something about their country. 

It was really awesome talking to the actual citizens instead of just the tourists. But a part of him still wonders if it would have been more awesome with Scott there. 

“But at least you got a boyfriend out of it, right?” His dad is now trying to cheer him up, and wow, awkward. 

“About that,” this time Stiles is the one who is embarrassed. “It’s not so much a boyfriend as this guy I ran into a couple of times. And I’m never going to see him again, even though he’s totally American… But we didn’t even talk about where we live. So. Yeah.” 

And he is not getting into any details, not with his dad. His dad can make all the assumptions about what they did get up to, but he is never going to confirm or deny anything, because that would just be embarrassing for everyone involved. His dad knows that Stiles is bi, after that awkward encounter at Jungle, there were a lot of misconceptions to correct, but they managed to talk through everything and they’re closer for it. But knowing that Stiles has a love life and dealing with the evidence are two very different things, and his dad is really only up for one of those - whether Stiles is with a man or a woman. 

“Well, maybe you’ll find someone closer to home,” his dad is actually trying to be optimistic here, and Stiles is trying really hard not to laugh at him. 

“Cause I’m so great at dating,” he mutters under his breath. 

Luckily, they arrive right around that time, because Stiles really does not want to get into it, and hot firefighters seem like a solid distraction. And it is basically a law of the universe that all firefighters must be ridiculously hot - especially in Beacon Hills, because most people here just happen to be CW teen show hot (or MTV reality show hot, or both). 

“Stiles,” his father actually tries. 

“Nope,” he shakes his head vehemently. “We are never going to talk about this, ever. You are going to talk to that guy, and I’m going to ogle hot people for a little while.” 

And his dad is not allowed to comment on anything. Which he doesn’t, because he’s smart enough to know better. They did establish some boundaries, after all. As well they should. 

So they both get out of the car, and his dad heads inside. Stiles just… rubs his tired eyes and takes a look around the garage. It’s nothing special, because he’s been here before - but apparently the roster has changed somewhat since he was last here, after trying some stupid shenanigans with Scott. He was sixteen and stupid then. 

He is twenty-two and stupid now. 

Just as stupid as he’d been back then, and drooling just as much over the gorgeous people occupying the garage. Though they appear to be new people - not that he remembers very much about them, so… But the dark-skinned guy his dad is talking to is new, and the ridiculously tall guy with the curls is not someone he has ever seen before - has he really been in Beacon Hills that little that he doesn’t even recognize anyone anymore? Because that would really suck, even though he is totally going to get back on track soon, now that he is living here again. 

And then he looks at the ridiculous firetruck, and notices a familiar dark-haired figure sitting behind the wheel, and his brain just fucking melts on him, because… What the fuck? 

Wait, is that actually? He can’t be that lucky, right? His karma is probably pretty damn good by now, but this good? No one’s karma should be that good. His is, though. 

Because that is, without a doubt, FKB Derek sitting behind the wheel of a gigantic firetruck. And he somehow hasn’t managed to notice that Stiles is here, and that is the best thing ever. And also the best opportunity he is ever going to get for that third time is the charm thing. Because well, trilogies are awesome and he needs to be the one to jump Derek this time. 

“Hey dad, I gotta go do a thing,” he calls out and doesn’t wait for an answer. 

And he won’t get an answer, because it’s not like his dad is actually listening to him. He’s several feet over, talking to the guy who is clearly Boyd, Derek’s friend. Erica’s partner - does that mean that his Catwoman is actually here, because that would be fucking awesome!

Right now he should focus on Derek first, though. 

He struts towards the truck with more confidence than he actually feels, and hopes that Derek doesn’t look up until he’s figured out the perfect opening line. And that is not an easy feat, because this is where they hopefully start building something, where they go from strangers to something more. Hopefully. Maybe. A boy can dream, right? 

So he takes another step, and then another, until he is right at the driver’s door, just waiting for Derek to take notice. And then his nostrils flare, and he actually does, looking down at Stiles with wide eyes that are much more blue than Stiles remembers them being. 

“We have to keep meeting like this,” Stiles grins at Derek. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that quote goes,” Derek is not having any of this. 

Okay, it really isn’t, but it definitely should be in this case. Because they’re here, they both are, when Stiles was so sure that he’d missed his chance. Not that this means that he has a chance now, but he is definitely willing to try. He has to try. 

“I know,” Stiles does his best Han Solo and hopes Derek gets it. “But we’re here, and I feel like there’s something that we should be doing. Does Erica have her camera ready?” 

Derek just stares at him, as if he doesn’t even know what Stiles is talking about, but that would make him a fucking liar because he totally knows. Especially seeing as Erica conveniently climbs down from the passenger side of the truck, grinning happily at Stiles and brandishing a slick new phone. Well, at least someone is excited to go for it. 

“Are you tall enough to reach, Batman?” Erica just has to make fun of him first. 

“I’m sure Derek can lean down a little if he ever wants to get some,” Stiles pointedly looks at Derek, because well, it’s on him. “We really do need to make it a trilogy.” 

And then Derek does lean down, because sometimes he actually listens to what Stiles is saying - and that’s a whole different kind of revelation that he does not have the brain power to unpack at the moment. Right now all he can think about is that Derek’s mouth is just as soft and slick and hot as it had been in Europe, even though the angle is a whole lot more awkward than it was back then. But he doesn’t care, because it’s still really fucking good, and he wants to keep doing this for the rest of time. Maybe without the truck in the way next time, though. 

“You’re really good at that,” he whispers to Derek as they pause for breath. 

Mostly for Stiles, not so much for Derek, because apparently he has a supernatural lung capacity (and wow, the blue eyes make so much more sense now too, because of course he’s a fucking werewolf). Stiles is panting like an idiot, but still ready to lean in for another go at this. 

His dad interrupts, however. “Derek, I see you’ve met my son.” 

Wait, fuck, what? Derek actually knows his dad? Derek is actually from Beacon Hills, or at least working here, and that’s enough of a thing to try and deal with - Derek actually knowing his dad (probably in a professional capacity) is a bridge too far. Like, he is an ex-Stiles, he is pining for the fucking fjords, he has passed on, rounded a corner… Something vaguely parrot sketch related like that. 

He can’t even think anymore.

“You’re Stiles?” Derek looks about as freaked out as Stiles feels. “Fuck.” 

Wait, what? Yes, he’s doing that a lot, but this is just a lot. Derek and his dad have met before, and they have actually talked about Stiles in that time. How? Why? What did they talk about and how fucking embarrassing was it? Just so he knows exactly how far away he needs to move. If Timbuktu is enough, maybe. Probably not though. 

“Is that a good fuck?” Stiles asks, and then facepalms at his own phrasing. 

“The best,” Erica hollers at the both of them from a safe distance.

So clearly she’s a wolf too, if she heard that. As long as his dad didn’t hear a thing, Stiles is totally fine - or at least, sort of fine, depending on Derek’s response. Which is coming like, any second now, right? Because Stiles is not the most patient of people. 

No one has ever called him patient, probably. 

“That remains to be determined,” Derek whispers, and Stiles just… dies on the inside.

And probably a little on the outside as well, but he’s doing his best to hide that. And it doesn’t seem like Derek minds, because he’s still staring at Stiles like they should be kissing, and yes, that is definitely a thing that they should be doing more of. Like, all the time. 

As a matter of fact, they should be doing that right now. 

“Stop doing this while on the clock,” Erica interrupts whatever moment they were trying to build just now. “I have all the blackmail I need to make you stop it until after Derek’s shift.” 

How much longer would that shift be? Inquiring minds want to know. Because he’s going to be home alone for the rest of the day, so he’s got a lot of time to do this off the clock. He is just going to assume that Derek wants to do it too, because if he didn’t, he probably would not have kissed Stiles again and made jokes about fucking. So, there. 

Suck on that insecurities. 

And his brain is not taking that to the right place either, and he’s already up on his tiptoes again, straining towards Derek like he’s the heroine in a romance novel. And he doesn’t even care, because Derek. That’s totally a solid argument. 

“Please,” his dad says, and that helps Stiles back down like right away. 

“Two hours,” Derek tells Stiles then. “I’m done in two hours. I can come over?” 

Stiles is moving into his own apartment on the first of next month, which is only a couple of days from now, so his dad will have to deal with him (and presumably with Derek) for a little while longer. And his dad’s busy schedule will probably take care of most of the work for them. 

“Yes,” Stiles tells Derek decisively. “I’ll be home alone, so I could use the company. I’m assuming you know where we live?” 

Derek uses those expressive brows of his to tell Stiles exactly what he thinks of him keeping Stiles company. Stiles is still a novice in brow reading, but he’s got the gist of it. They are not going to spend a lot of time talking, probably. They can do that after. 

“I’m leaving,” Stiles’ dad announces, not wanting to see more of this. 

Which is totally understandable. He doesn’t want his dad to see it either, but even though he knows he’ll see Derek again within like, two and a half, three hours, he’s still loathe to leave him. Which is a Scott level of pathetic that he’s never reached until now. And even now, he really isn’t proud of it - fuck, he still doesn’t even know Derek’s last name. 

“See you tonight, Stiles,” Derek promises, eyes electric blue again. 

Stiles spends the long, long two and a half hours between getting home and seeing Derek again posting a carefully curated collection of their pictures together and watching everyone lose their shit over them online. Because apparently no one had recognized Derek Hale until now - not even Stiles, who is definitely kicking himself right about now. 

And then Derek finally shows up on his doorstep. Stiles doesn’t even let him get out a greeting before he yanks him inside and kisses him again, without the cameras this time. He’s got more important things to do than gloat right now. 


End file.
